


Black Leather

by StarkRogers



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Hand Jobs, Hand Kink, Leather Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkRogers/pseuds/StarkRogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Copyright: This is an original work of fiction. Sherlock Holmes is public domain, making this piece of work legally mine. You may not reproduce or publish this work on any site or in any journal or any other form of media without my permission. </p><p> </p><p>Holmes must leave for a case, but Watson would rather he stay. He demonstrates using Holmes' black leather glove.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Leather

"Those are my gloves." Watson said from his place on the settee one cold evening, as Holmes prepared to leave and meet with the Detective Inspector.

"I beg your pardon?" Holmes retorted, in no mood to argue about clothing. He despised the fact that he had to head out so late in the evening, but one did not ignore telegrams from one's brother on behalf of the Detective Inspector, especially when one's brother very nearly _was_ the British government. 

"I said, those are my gloves." Watson repeated, folding down the newspaper he had been reading. Holmes stepped over to the doctor, still trying to close the button on the left glove. He presented the glove to Watson with the clear expectation that the doctor should fasten the button, if he was so intent on being critical about who the gloves belonged to. Watson sighed and reached up, closing the button with practiced ease. As his fingers brushed against the bare skin on the bottom of Holmes' wrist the detective ever so slightly jumped. Watson quietly noted the reaction, and held onto Holmes' hand for a moment longer than necessary, staring at how the leather accented his strong knuckles. 

"They don't even fit you properly," Watson said softly as a lame excuse, slipping his fingers beneath the wrist of the glove and sliding his thumb around, demonstrating how much extra space there was. Watson's wrists were much thicker than Holmes', leaving plenty of space for his fingers to explore around the detective's delicate wrists. He looked up now, as Holmes' shivers had become unmistakeable, his breath shallow, face flushed. Gently, Watson pulled Holmes' hand towards his mouth and laid a kiss against the tips of the fingers. Holmes let his fingers slide across Watson's mouth as the doctor continued to gently lay kisses against the leather, until Holmes was cupping Watson's face, his breath caught in his throat. 

When Watson's mouth reached the edge of the glove he stopped for a moment. Then with a hot, wet flick Watson slid his tongue against the bare exposed patch of Holmes' skin, where the button failed to cover the smallest section of Holmes' palm and wrist. Holmes gasped and closed his eyes for a moment, only to open them again a moment later with a moan, as Watson licked back up the underside of his palm. Watson's mouth worked against the leather, sucking and pressing with his tongue until the entire palm of Holmes' hand was wet and shining.

Holmes felt his pulse quicken as Watson bit firmly but gently through the leather, the pressure enticing and agonizing. Then, with a gentle tip of his head, Watson took Holmes' fingers into his mouth. Holmes inhaled with a shudder as the slick heat swallowed him up, and Watson looked up at him with intense blue eyes. Holmes could barely breathe as Watson sucked tightly on his fingers, pulling them in so deep before letting them slide back out against his tongue. 

Holmes gently traced his fingers against the inside of Watson's mouth, exploring every corner. The taste of leather filled Watson's mouth, the smell filled his nose and he moaned around Holmes' fingers, wantonly sucking on the wet leather. Holmes watched breathlessly as Watson's mouth worked, his lips wet and open. 

Watson's head slowly slipped to the left until it rested against the arm of the settee. Holmes sat next to him, watching with bated breath as Watson's hand slid up his arm, gripping his bicep as his mouth continued to suck, his blue eyes now closed tightly. The doctor moaned again and Holmes held back a gasp, instead thrusting his fingers deeper into Watson's mouth. Watson's hips began to twist, and through his own lusty haze Holmes realised Watson was achingly hard beneath his trousers.

Holmes reached his right hand down and cupped it against Watson's groin, leather against tweed. Watson moaned encouragements around Holmes' fingers, so he pressed down, drawing his fingers up the trapped length of Watson's member. The moan it elicited from the doctor's throat was almost pained, and drove straight for Holmes' own throbbing sex.

"Watson," Holmes breathed in awe, watching the man beneath him twist and arch up into his hand, sucking so fervently on his fingers, clutching his arm tightly as if afraid Holmes would withdraw his fingers. Reserved Watson, proper gentlemanly Watson, dissolving beneath his hands, gasping as Holmes curled his fingers tightly against the base of his heat, his hips snapping upwards to strengthen the friction of every grazing touch. 

Watson was trying to speak encouragements and pleas around Holmes' fingers, and Holmes almost wanted to remove them to hear Watson's beautiful voice begging him for release. Watson's vice like grip around his arm told him not to, and so instead he lowered his head, laying his lips against Watson's even as his fingers continued to drive into him. Watson moaned again and tried to kiss him around the fingers, but Holmes pressed against his tongue and held the doctor's mouth open. Watson shuddered beneath his hands until Holmes thrust his tongue in to join his fingers in Watson's mouth, and the doctor's hips surged beneath his right hand, becoming ever desperate for Holmes to touch him faster, harder. Watson's mouth began to fail in its ministrations as his breath quickened, his jaw slack as he panted in rhythm to his thrusting hips. His quiet panting soon turned to ever louder moans as the doctor neared completion. 

Watson's free hand joined Holmes' on his groin, and he pressed down hard, increasing he friction until he surged over the edge, emitting a long broken moan that seized his entire body in its grip, his legs bending and thrusting his hips up off the settee, his back arching, his neck tipped so far back that Holmes' fingers slipped out. Watson's fingers on Holmes' arm dug in fiercely - he would most definitely have a bruise come tomorrow. Finally the doctor calmed, laying back down against the settee with a gasping shudder, still holding Holmes' hand tightly against his now moist groin, the stain slowly spreading. 

Holmes gently kissed the doctor's damp forehead, letting him collect himself for a few minutes. When the hand on Holmes' arm finally relaxed he knew he could move again, removing his hand from Watson's groin, eliciting an exhausted shudder. 

"I must go now, Watson," Holmes said softly, giving Watson's forehead another kiss.

"I know," Watson replied, still catching his breath, his eyes closed. Holmes smiled softly and stood, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Watson opened his eyes and watched Holmes leave without another word, sinking back against the settee with a sigh.


End file.
